The House in the Woods
An Atticus Priest Mystery
Mark Dawson
Contents
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part II
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Part III
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Part IV
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
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Part I
1
Detective Chief Inspector Mackenzie Jones was peeling potatoes and listening to Bing Crosby when her phone started to ring. She had been preparing tomorrow’s dinner for the last two hours. Andy had offered to do the meal, just like he usually did, but she had told him that she wanted to do it. She wasn’t as good a cook as he was and, not full of confidence that she would be able to pull it off, she had bought a meal box from Hello Fresh after seeing one of their ads on Facebook. She had a turkey, all the vegetables and sauces, and a booklet of instructions that even she could follow. She had selected her Christmas playlist on Spotify and had found, to her surprise, that she had enjoyed herself more than she had expected.
She wiped her hands on a tea towel and turned the phone around so that she could see who was calling.
It was Tristan Lennox.
She picked it up and put it to her ear. “What’s up?”
“Sorry for disturbing you, boss,” he said. “Christmas and everything.”
‘White Christmas’ ended and The Waitresses’ ‘Christmas Wrapping’ began. Mack turned the music down. “It’s not a problem. I was just doing the vegetables for tomorrow. What is it?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“What?” She sighed. “What is it?”
“Looks like we might have a murder.”
She stopped the music completely. “What?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“Where?”
“There’s a farmhouse in Grovely Woods.”
“Casualties?”
“At least one dead.”
“You can confirm that?”
“I can’t. But I’ve got a witness who says he saw a dead body.”
“Shit.”
“I know,” he said.
“Where are you? Are you there?”
“Yes. A civilian called 999.”
“Name?”
“Ralph Mallender. He said he went to the house and saw his father’s body through the kitchen window. He doesn’t have a key to get in, and the doors are all locked. I was closest when the call came in. I got here before uniform did.” He paused and Mack thought she heard the hoot of an owl in the background. “I’m sorry, boss. I really think you need to get out here. The civilian says there were four people inside the house, and I’m fairly sure I saw movement in the window.”
She exhaled. Christmas Eve.
“Boss?”
“You called armed response?”
“On their way, but they’re coming from Andover. I’ve got uniform covering front and back until they arrive.”
She laid the knife on the counter and propped the phone between her shoulder and cheek. “Stay out of range. Nobody engages with anyone until the ARVs are there.”
“Understood.”
Lennox gave her directions. Mack noted them down and told him that she would call again from the car.
Andy was in the sitting room. He had the kids’ presents set out on the coffee table and was struggling to wrap them.
“I’m no good at this,” he said, grinning at the mess of paper and sticky tape on the floor. He noticed Mack’s drawn expression, and his own happiness fizzled out.
“I just had a call from Lennox.”
“Trouble?”
“He thinks there’s been a murder.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Mack.”
“I know that.”
“And you have to go?”
“You know I do.”
He tried to hide his disappointment, but it was something that he had never been very good at doing. “Fine,” he said, trying to smile. “It’s fine. It’s not your fault. Not a problem.” He nodded to the kitchen. “You want me to carry on with the prep?”
“Could you? I’m really sorry.”
He took a piece of tape that he had stuck to the edge of the table and used it to seal the final flap of paper on Daisy’s present. He stood up and, seeing the concern on her face, stepped over the debris and drew her into an embrace. “I’ll take care of this. Just get home again as soon as you can.”
“Keep the bed warm,” she said.
Mack reversed off the drive and pulled away. It was late, and that, combined with the festive season and the cold drizzle that had been falling all day, meant that there was little traffic about. She left the ring road and turned onto Wilton Road, which led into the village and the entrance to Wilton House. Two large Christmas trees had been installed on either side of the gates to the house, and an adventurous local had clambered up the statue of the Earl of Pembroke and
draped a length of tinsel around his neck. The houses on either side of the road glowed with lights in the windows. Drunks rolled home after late calls at the Greyhound and the Bear, and the congregation was just emerging from St Mary’s and St Nicholas’s, sheltering under umbrellas with collars turned up against the cold. It all looked festive and inviting. Mack drove under the railway bridge and then, glancing regretfully at the illuminations in the rear-view mirror, made her way into the enveloping gloom of the countryside.
She drove to Great Wishford and then followed the single-lane track to the north of the village. She passed between tilled fields towards the darker fringe ahead that signalled the start of Grovely Wood. It was dark, with no artificial light and all the illumination from the moon and stars blocked by the thatch of branches overhead. All she could see was what was directly ahead of her, the road and the underbrush illuminated by the light thrown forward by the high beams. She saw the shapes of the trees, the lines of beech planted on either side of the road.
She drove on and, eventually, saw blue light throbbing through the trees. The gate that marked the end of the track and the beginning of the farm’s boundary was open. She drove up to it. A line of blue and white plastic police tape had been stretched between the gateposts, snapping in the light breeze. The blue light was from two patrol cars, and she recognised Lennox’s Audi parked alongside them. She parked, opened the door and got out. The rain had stopped, and now the temperature had dropped so that the moisture, once it was on the skin, felt frigid. A hard frost had been promised. No snow, but not the kind of night when you’d want to be outside.
She recognised the constable waiting by the cars. It was Sam Collison, one of the team who worked the countryside beat out of Wilton station.
“Boss,” Collison said.
“All right?”
“Freezing my tits off.”
“Where’s Lennox?”
“With the civilian who called us. Son of the farmer who lives here. Says he saw a dead body through the window in the door.”
“Lennox told me he thinks there’s someone still inside the house.”
“He thought he saw someone cross the upstairs window.”
Mack looked through the trees to the house. There was no sign of movement now.
“Did you see anything?”
He shook his head. “The DS isn’t sure, but he said we were to stay back. He’s worried if there is someone still inside, they might take a potshot at us.”
2
“Evening, boss,” Detective Sergeant Tristan Lennox said.
She gestured to the house. “Anything new?”
Lennox shook his head.
“You still think someone’s in there?”
“Haven’t been able to discount it.”
“We’ll be careful. Are there guns inside?”
He nodded. “Control ran the premises through the database. There are firearms registered to this address. Shotguns for the farm.”
“Bollocks.” She zipped up her coat. “I need to take a closer look. Can I get close enough without putting myself in the firing line?”
“The barn over there,” he said. “If we take it nice and slow, we’ll be able to get a look at the house without giving ourselves away. Just keep your head down.”
Mack ducked under the police tape and, with Lennox, slowly approached along the track.
She looked over and noticed that the shoulder of Lennox’s jacket had been ripped. She pointed to it. “What happened there?”
“I was fixing the fence at home,” he said. “Caught it on the post. Clumsy twat.”
“Didn’t Sam buy that for you?”
“Christmas last year,” he said.
“She’s not going to be happy.”
He shook his head ruefully. “Haven’t told her yet.”
They reached the dark, looming shape of the barn and edged around the perimeter until they were able to squat behind a discarded pile of bricks that gave them a good view of the premises. The farmhouse was a large building, constructed in the Edwardian style and funded, no doubt, by the harvests of wheat that the fields within the woods had been producing for hundreds of years. There were lights on in one of the downstairs rooms and in two of the rooms above it.
“In which window did you see movement?”
“Top one, up there. Frosted glass.”
He pointed to a window on the first floor.
“Bathroom, maybe?” she said.
“Maybe.”
There was nothing there now. She took out her phone and shot a quick video, panning left and right so that the whole façade was included, and then signalled that they should return to the rally point. They retraced their steps. An ambulance had arrived while they had been away; Collison was at the door briefing the paramedics. It was standard practice: they didn’t know what they would find once they went inside, and it was best to assume the worst.
“The two uniforms observing,” Mack said. “Who are they?”
“Yaxley at the front and Edwards at the back.”
“Where’s armed response?”
“Still twenty minutes out. Firearms controller has whistled for support from Avon and Somerset. They’re sending extra units up.”
Mack noticed a lone figure sat in the back of Lennox’s car. It was a man, his head and shoulders occasionally illuminated by the flashing blues.
“Is that the civilian?”
Lennox nodded. “His family lives here. Mum and dad. His brother and sister—Cameron and Cassandra—are back from university for Christmas. He thinks they’re inside, too. Betts is with him.”
“Mallender?”
Lennox nodded. “Ralph. Says he’s worried about his brother. Told me he’s unpredictable. Issues with his temper.”
“He thinks the brother did it?”
Lennox shrugged. “He thinks he might’ve.”
“I’d better have a word.”
She crossed over to the car. She could see the occupants a little better now. PC Betts was in the passenger’s seat and the civilian was in the back. They were talking.
She opened the rear door and climbed inside.
“Hello,” she said. “Mr. Mallender?”
“That’s right. Please—call me Ralph.”
Mallender was in his late thirties, with thick black hair and striking, haughty features. He was pale, and his hands, laid in his lap, were trembling.
“I’m Detective Chief Inspector Jones.”
Mack extended a hand and Mallender took it. His flesh was icy cold and his grip loose.
“DS Lennox tells me that you saw a body in the kitchen.”
“Yes.” He swallowed. “My father.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Did you go inside?”
“Couldn’t. Door’s locked.”
“You don’t have a key?”
“Not with me. Left it at home. And my father is very careful with security. They were burgled last year and he had heavy-duty locks put in afterwards. Once the doors are locked, that’s that. And he wouldn’t open them after dark unless there was a good reason.”
“So how did you see him?”
“I looked in through the kitchen window. That’s when I…” He stopped.
“Go on.”
“That’s when I saw him. He’s lying on the floor. Wasn’t moving. I saw blood.”
“And who else is inside?”
“My mother, my sister and my brother.”
“And what do you think might have happened?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“DS Lennox says you’re worried about your brother.”
He nodded. “He’s had problems with his mental health.”
“What kind of problems?”
“His temper. There was a big argument this afternoon…”
“Involving him?”
“All of us. That’s why I came back—I wanted to sort it out before tomorrow.”
Mack could see
that there was a lot of detail that she would need to excavate and understand, but that would have to wait.
“We believe there may be firearms in the house—is that right?”
He nodded. “Shotguns and a rifle. My father uses them to shoot the rabbits.”
“Are they secure?”
“In the gun safe.”
“Anything else?”
“My father used to be a competitive shooter. Pistols. He kept the guns after the law changed. Shoots them in the woods.”
“And those are in the safe, too?”
He nodded.
“Would your brother have been able to get at the guns?”
He nodded again. “He’d know where the key is.”
“Thank you, Ralph,” she said. “I’m going to ask you to stay inside the car with Constable Betts while we get this sorted out. Okay?”